


Are You Hurting The One You Love?

by DragonGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little bit of fluff but mostly angst tbh, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22570525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl/pseuds/DragonGirl
Summary: Cas was not doing well.Sam didn’t seemed to notice, but Dean, the self-appointed King of Not-Doing-Well, most certainly had.  He’d hoped that, after Purgatory, Cas would be more open to talking, but the minute they’d returned to the bunker, he’d run off to his room and stayed there for the rest of the night.  At the time Dean had written it off.  It’d been a long day, and he probably just needed some time to process everything.  And he’d come out the following morning for breakfast so Dean hadn’t worried too much.  They’d even spoken a bit, so he chalked that up as a win.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	Are You Hurting The One You Love?

Cas was _not_ doing well. 

Sam didn’t seemed to notice, but Dean, the self-appointed King of Not-Doing-Well, most certainly had. He’d hoped that, after Purgatory, Cas would be more open to talking, but the minute they’d returned to the bunker, he’d run off to his room and stayed there for the rest of the night. At the time Dean had written it off. It’d been a long day, and he probably just needed some time to process everything. And he’d come out the following morning for breakfast so Dean hadn’t worried too much. They’d even spoken a bit, so he chalked that up as a win. 

But Cas was... different. Quieter, if that was even possible and at times his eyes would dart around the room. Cas had never been much for smiling but when he had, the expression had always lit up his entire face. Nowadays, his smiles never seemed to reach his eyes. It reminded Dean uncomfortably of the days leading up to the final confrontation during the rebellion in Heaven, just before their friendship had gone to shit for the first time, and it set his teeth on edge. 

“Listen, Sam, I’m telling you, something’s wrong,” Dean whispered one night after Cas had gone back to his room. 

“He’s fine Dean,” Sam slowly closed the book he had been reading and sighed. “He’s probably just adjusting still. Give him a little time and I’m sure he’ll get back to normal.”

But he didn’t. If anything Cas pulled further away, locking himself in his room for longer and longer periods of time. Dean couldn’t remember the last time they’d said more than three words to each other. 

Finally after a couple months of silent evenings in the bunker, Dean’d had enough. 

It was nearly three in the morning, but, as usual, Dean found himself unable to sleep. The mattress was as comfortable as ever, but his mind was running too fast for him to have any hope of nodding off. With a sigh, he pushed himself up out of bed and padded down the hall to Cas’s room. 

The door was a solid, dark-stained oak, the same as every other door in the hall except for one detail. Hanging from the door was a simple wooden placard that marked the room. A few years ago, during a rare period of calm, Dean had taken a woodworking class at the local community college on a whim. One of the lessons had been on wood burning and Dean had never felt prouder than when he’d presented the sign to Cas, with the Enochian letters of Castiel’s name carefully etched onto the surface. The letters were a bit shaky but Cas had held that sign like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. 

Dean ran his fingers over the indented letters for a moment and closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to remember happier times. Only a moment though. If Dean had learned anything recently, it was that the sooner problems were addressed, the better. Pressing his forehead to the wood, Dean raised his hand and finally knocked. 

“Hey Cas?” Dean ignored the way his voice cracked on Cas’s name. He waited for a moment but the only response he got was silence. “Listen, I know its late, but you don’t actually sleep so... Can we talk?” A few seconds passed but still no response. Dean reached down and tried the door handle: it was unlocked. He sighed in relief and the tight coil of anxiety in his chest loosened slightly. Cas wasn’t angry enough to keep him locked out. “Hey Cas, I’m coming in.”

He wasn’t sure what it was that made him hesitate for a moment before he opened the door. The fleeting hope that Cas would answer? That he wasn’t ignoring him? That Cas still wanted Dean in his life, despite all evidence to the contrary?

Once the door was open, Dean immediately understood why there hadn’t been an answer. The room was empty. Panic flooded Dean’s veins like a rush of icy cold water. He was gone. Again. And this time Cas hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye. He’d thought, given their brief moments of civility that maybe it wasn’t too late for them to fix things, but it looked like he’d been wrong. 

Dean slept fitfully that night. Every time he closed his eyes, his dreams presented him with a number of increasingly distressing scenarios, all revolving around Cas. When he woke up for the fourth time in a cold sweat to find that it was barely seven in the morning, he finally gave up on getting any sleep. 

By the time Dean had managed to drag himself down to the kitchen and brew himself some coffee, his mood had managed to tank even further. Nothing seemed to be going his way today: Sam had evidently used the last of the good beans and forgotten to tell him, he‘d spilled water all over the counter while trying to refill the reservoir, and he’d pulled the milk out of the fridge only to discover that it had started to turn. So instead of a good cup of coffee with a splash of milk, he was stuck with a cup of pre-ground shit that was as black as his mood. There had been some of Sam’s weird plant milk in the fridge but Dean would sooner go back to Purgatory then drink that hippie crap. Grumbling under his breath, Dean leaned against the counter and took his first sip. He’d forgotten that the lack of milk meant the drink was still blisteringly hot, so all he got for his efforts was a pretty spectacular burn on his tongue. Great. Because his morning hadn’t sucked enough already. 

The sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway approaching the kitchen interrupted Dean’s cursing. He was gearing up to let loose another string of curses, this time directed at Sam for neglecting to buy more of the good coffee when he’d gone to the store the day before, but the words died on his tongue. Instead of Sam’s ridiculously long hair, he was greeted by the sight of a rumpled trench coat and striking blue eyes.

“Cas?” Dean‘s grip on the handle of his mug loosened reflexively and he fumbled to keep ahold of his mug of coffee as his sleep addled brain tried to process the fact that Cas was standing in front of him. 

Cas shot him a look of confusion, tilting his head to the side slightly and looking him over with slightly narrowed eyes. “Yes?” he asked, sounding confused.

Dean stood stock still as hot coffee dripped off his hand and onto the floor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that spilling near boiling hot coffee on his hand should probably hurt like a bitch, but he was far to preoccupied with taking in the blue of Cas’s eyes. Eyes he thought he’d never see ever again. But he was here. Standing right in front of him, with his eyebrows set in their near constant furrow that created a little crease between his eyebrows and left Dean with the urge to smooth it away with his thumb.

It was at this point that Cas seemed to notice the spilled coffee. His eyebrows furrowed even further. “Dean, your hand.” He strode over to the counter in a few long strides and stopped at a distance that Dean would have said was far too close when they’d first met, but now somehow didn’t feel close enough.

Cas gently lifted up Dean’s stinging hand and laid his free hand over the angry red blisters. His eyes momentarily flared an even brighter blue, and his hand soon glowed with that same almost white light, sending a cool, tingling sensation through Dean’s blistered skin. The light died down a moment later and Cas ran his hand over fresh, undamaged skin. The gesture was obviously meant to be soothing, but it sent sparks running up and down Dean’s spine as he struggled not to shudder. He must have failed though because Cas stiffened momentarily before he dropped Dean’s hand and took a large step back. 

Trying, and failing, to not feel too stung by the sudden lack of proximity, Dean rubbed his freshly healed hand. Cas was refusing to look at him now, instead choosing to look past Dean’s left shoulder. “I uh… I didn’t think I’d see you this morning,” Dean finally said after the silence had reached unbearable levels. Was this just how things were going to be between them now? Awkward attempts at communicating that trailed off into even more awkward small talk? 

Dean could’ve wept when Cas’s eyes snapped up to meet his once more. The tension in Cas’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and he tilted his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t you? You said you were going to make pancakes today.”

Dean blinked. He was so far beyond confused now that things had somehow looped back towards making sense before taking a hard right into a ditch. “I…” What could he possibly say? ‘I thought you’d run away again’? No, he’d been wrong. Paranoid as usual. The bunker was a large and Cas probably got bored just sitting around in his room all night. There was no reason to burden Cas with his insecurities. So Dean just shook his head, shoved those thoughts to the side, and smiled. “I thought you said all food just tastes like molecules to you.”

Cas smiled, a small quirk of his lips but definitely there. “They’re pleasant molecules,” he replied. “And besides,” his smile grew a little wider, “They’re especially pleasant when you put honey on them.”

“Ugh don’t remind me of the weird shit you do to my pancakes,” Dean groaned. He reached out, too relieved to remember Cas’s earlier discomfort, and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You should at least help make ‘em if you’re gonna defile ‘em like that.” Cas’s smile grew a fraction wider as Dean pulled away and started rattling off a list of ingredients they’d need.

By the time they’d finished making breakfast, the kitchen was a disaster and Cas had streak of flour across his cheek that had somehow escaped his notice. But Dean felt a spark of hope bloom in his chest as he watched Cas pour a truly ungodly amount of honey onto his pancakes. 

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe they could still fix this.

~~~

Things seemed to be a bit less tense after that, but Dean still kept a close eye on Cas. There wasn’t anything obviously suspicious, but something still felt _off_ , and if there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was to trust his instincts when it came to stuff like this. So he watched. Not that there was anything of note to report. Cas still spent most of his time in his room, but he would emerge just often enough to appease Sam and during those rare nights he acted almost normal. Sam was probably right, there was nothing to worry about. He was just being paranoid and besides he had enough to worry about as it was. Cas being a bit of a hermit was pretty low on the list of concerns. Besides, nothing bad had happened. So Dean slowly let his guard down. Allowed himself to smile whenever Cas’s gaze met his from across the table at dinner and basked in the feeling of Cas’s fingers brushing against his when he handed him a bottle of beer. Things were good.

Until Claire died. 

It was shortly afterwards that the murders started. 

~~~

Dean hadn’t noticed it at first. Sure, there had been reports of a stabbing every once in a while on the news, but the rising monster problem had taken up most of his attention. It wasn’t until the news started releasing details that he really started to pay attention.

“Police tonight have discovered the fifth body in a string of murders that they are now calling the work of a serial killer.” The woman on the news was speaking in a calm tone of voice, but Dean could see the fear in her eyes. “The victims don’t appear to have anything in common, and the police are advising the citizens of Lebanon to lock their doors and stay inside after dark.”

“The bodies are really starting to pile up,” Sam suddenly spoke up from where he was seated in front of the television. “Do you think we should look into it?” he asked. 

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s a serial killer. Not really our kind of thing.” He stopped sharpening the machete in his hands and waved it around a bit for emphasis. “Besides, we have our hands full enough as it is right now.”

“I know,” Sam sighed. “It’s just… something doesn’t feel right there. And this wouldn’t be the first time someone thought a monster was just a serial killer.”

“Yeah, but monsters don’t stab people Sammy,” Dean pointed out, resuming his work. “If there were throats being ripped out or people being drained of blood, then sure, I’d say it’d be worth checking out. But this is just some wack job with a knife.”

“So you’re telling me that nothing feels off about this to you?”

Dean paused. Everything had been feeling “off” for a while now and this sudden string of murders was just another thing to add to the growing pile of shit that had alarm bells ringing almost constantly in his head. He sighed and set his machete down on the table. “You know what, fine. We’re not set to help Garth with that vamp nest until tomorrow, and the sheriff still owes up a favor for dealing with those werewolves last year.”

Sam’s shoulder relaxed. “Thanks Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean scoffed. “I’m only agreeing to this because I know if we don’t at least check it out, you’ll keep bitching about it. But when it turns out that it’s not our kind of thing, which it won’t be, you’ll be on dish duty for the next month.” 

“All right, fine,” Sam grumbled. “Just as long as we go check it out.”

“Sure, sure, we can head over there now, if you want. Let me just get Cas.” Dean hadn’t seen Cas all morning, which was unusual. He could almost always count on Cas at least coming down for breakfast. The idea of leaving Cas alone all day in the bunker didn’t sit right with him for some reason.

“Oh,” Sam looked up again. “Cas told me he had stuff he needed to do today.”

“Stuff? What stuff? Since when does Cas have ‘stuff’?” 

“I don’t know, he didn’t say anything beyond that. Sounded like he didn’t want to be bothered though.”

Yeah that didn’t make him feel even more uneasy… Now the only thing he wanted to do was make his way over to Cas’s room and check up on him, make sure he was doing ok. But if Cas wanted to be left alone, such an intrusion was only gonna make him cranky. And lord knows Cas was grumpy enough on a good day these days. 

So instead, Dean sighed and stood up. “Ok then, let me just grab my coat and keys and we can head on over to the sheriff’s office.”

He didn’t fetch Cas, but if Dean stopped in front of his closed door to press his ear against the wood for a brief moment, could anyone really blame him?

~~~

Sheriff Amelia Stoker was normally an imposing woman. Even ignoring the fact that she was six feet tall, her no nonsense demeanor was an effective deterrent to most teens looking to cause trouble. But when Sam and Dean met her at the station, she just looked tired. She had dark circles under her eyes and her uniform was wrinkled, as if she’d spent more than one night sleeping in it. 

Sheriff Stoker didn’t look the least bit surprised to see them. “I was wondering when you boys would show up.” She took another sip of her coffee. “Wasn’t sure if I should call but since you’re here, might as well get your opinion.” Setting her half-empty mug on her desk, she stood up and started walking towards Lebanon PD’s tiny morgue. “We’ve been at a loss on this one. Not a single scrap of evidence on any of the bodies and the violence of these killings just keeps escalating.”

The sheriff paused at the door to the morgue. “By the way, where’s your friend? The scowl-y one with the funny name, Cassiel was it?”

“Castiel,” Dean corrected automatically. “And he uh— he hasn’t been feeling too well lately so he stayed home.”

Stoker nodded. “There’s been a lot going around lately,” she replied. “Got three deputies out with the flu right now. Hope he feels better soon.”

“Yeah me too,” Dean mumbled. Cas was dealing with something far worse than the flu right now and it wasn’t gonna go away any time soon, but Dean was sure Cas would appreciate the sentiment had he been here. 

“Anyway, the ME finished up with the latest victim an hour ago,” Stoker continued, back to business as she pushed open the door to the morgue and led them inside. 

Dean had never liked morgues. They were always just a bit too cold and stank of chemicals that couldn’t quite mask the scent of death that permeated them. The Lebanon morgue was no exception. It was one of the smaller morgues Dean had seen throughout his years of hunting, barely big enough for the table of lab equipment and single autopsy table, currently in use by a sheet covered body. 

Stoker grabbed ahold of the sheet and paused. “Now I wanna warn you boys, what’s under the sheet is a bit gruesome.”

“I’m sure we’ve seen worse,” Sam replied, though he looked a but apprehensive. 

“Suit yourself.” Stoker shrugged and pulled down the sheet to reveal the body underneath. 

Reporting the killings as “stabbings” had been a major understatement. The body currently on the table had more holes in it than a slice of Swiss cheese and the victim’s face had been beaten to the point that it was difficult to tell he’d been human. 

“Martin Lewis, age 26,” Sheriff Stoker supplied. “Only reason we were able to identify him was because his girlfriend gave us a DNA sample when she filed the missing person’s report.”

They’d seen all manner of deaths during their time hunting, but even Sam looked a bit queasy at the level of overkill in front of them.

“Anything stand out to you as weird?” Dean asked, tearing his eyes away from the mangled face. There was something about the damage that felt familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. 

Stoker raised an eyebrow. “You mean besides the fact that his entire face’s caved in?” She asked, sarcasm heavily coloring her tone. She sighed. “Sorry, been a bit stressed lately. The press’s been having a field day with this one and people are starting to panic. But, now that you mention it, the knife was pretty weird.” She walked over to the coroner’s desk and picked up a plastic evidence bag. “We managed to get a pretty good mold of one of the stab wounds. Not sure what exactly the weapon is, to be honest. Blade’s too long to be a dagger but also too short to be a sword, plus there’s the shape.” She held out the bag to Sam. 

A dull ringing noise started up in Dean’s ears as he blankly watched Sam look over the mold. It wasn’t a prefect cast by any means, but it was complete enough to show the familiar shape of a blade with a base shaped like a three pointed star that tapered to a sharp point. He barely registered what Sam was saying to the sheriff, didn’t even react when Sam grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the precinct as he promised Sheriff Stoker that they’d let her know if they found any information on the weapon. 

They sat in silence in the Impala for a few minutes before Sam finally spoke up. “That… That was an angel blade,” he whispered. 

Dean didn’t answer. His thoughts were running far too wild for him to even begin to formulate a good response. There was no use denying it, the mold had been an angel blade. 

“Dean, what are we gonna do now?” 

“What we’re gonna do is—” Dean took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel for a moment, “—is call Garth and tell him he needs to find someone else to help him with the vamp nest. Something’s killing people and they somehow managed to get their hands on an angel blade.”

“Dean,” Sam was giving him a look now, one that was as sorrowful as it was grim. “You think this could be Ca—“

“Don’t!” Dean cut him off with a snarl. “Cas is _fine_ , you said so yourself. Plenty of things have managed to get their hands on angel blades over the years, hell Crowley had a whole collection of the things. Cas’s got _nothing_ to do with this.”

Sam’s expression shifted to something too close to pity for Dean’s comfort. With another angry grumble, Dean started the Impala and pulled out of the parking lot much faster than was probably safe. Sam was wrong, it was that simple. There was no way it was Cas, he would never do something like this.

Or at least… Dean didn’t think he would…

~~~

That night Dean didn’t even bother with trying to sleep. They hadn’t been able to find Cas when they’d returned from the sheriff’s office and if Dean hadn’t been nearly sick to his stomach with worry before, he sure as shit was now. So when Sam finally decided to turn in for the night and they still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Cas, Dean grabbed another bottle of beer and moved from the library to the war room. The chairs weren’t as comfortable in this room but it was impossible for anyone to enter or leave the bunker without passing directly through it. 

As the hours passed, Dean’s thoughts wandered. He tried to focus on mundane things, like what he was going to cook for dinner the rest of the week, but he only had so many things he could think about before his mind inevitably made its way to the topic he’s been trying so hard to avoid. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t think Cas was capable of that level of violence. Hell he’d been on the receiving end of a frankly concerning number of Cas beatdowns over the years. But when it came to the actual killing, Cas had always done so with the calculated precision of a single stab to the chest or head of his opponent. But the man on that autopsy table… He had _suffered_ before he’d died.

The sound of the bunker’s main door swinging open was what finally jolted Dean from that rather upsetting train of thought. 

“Someone’s up late,” Dean called out when he caught sight of Cas’s boots on the stairs. 

“The same could be said of you.” Did Cas’s voice sound gruffer than normal or was he just imagining things? He finished descending the stairs “I was under the impression that humans tend to be asleep at this time of night.”

“I—uh—couldn’t sleep.“ Dean paused to take in Cas’s appearance. He didn’t look any more rumpled than usual and Dean couldn’t see a drop of blood anywhere on him. He looked the same as he always did, standing tall and stoic at the bottom of the stairs. 

Cas sighed. “I’ve been told stress can keep a person up at night,” he said. “Hopefully you can get some rest soon.” The words were probably meant to be comforting, but there was something in Cas’s voice that put Dean on edge. There was no warmth in his voice, no gentle assurances that everything would be okay. Not that Dean would’ve believed him. 

He was starting to think that “okay” wasn’t something he’d ever get to have.

Cas stood there in awkward silence, eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Dean expectantly. The unspoken question hung in the air between them, but Dean was too scared to actually ask it and it seemed that Cas was unwilling to just give him an answer. After a few moments, Cas sighed, looking almost disappointed, and turned to walk further into the bunker.

“Hey Cas?” 

Cas stopped in the archway leading to the library and looked back over his shoulder. “Yes Dean?”

“You… you’d tell me, right? If anything was going on with you?”

Cas blinked. “Of course I would,” he said firmly. “But you don’t need to worry, I’m doing fine.”

“Are you really though? I know from experience how bad that mark can be, how it can make you feel.” Cas flinched, but Dean continued. “I just wanna make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m fine Dean,” Cas repeated, but his tone had a hard edge to it this time. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. You aren’t in any danger.”

It wasn’t him he was worried about. He was worried about the innocent people of Lebonon currently living in terror, but more importantly, he was worried about Cas. Now that he was really looking, he could see how tense Cas’s shoulders were and there was a look in his eye that Dean recognized all too well. The kind of look one had when they were trying to hold it together and barely succeeding. He’d seen that exact look in the mirror enough times during his time with the mark. 

“I—“ Cas cut himself off, still standing in the doorway, but further away than ever before. “I’m going to bed,” he said finally. He turned and walked towards the hall, leaving Dean alone with just his bottle of beer and his thoughts once more. 

It wasn’t until an hour later, when Sam came down for his morning jog, that Dean realized he’d completely forgotten to ask Cas where he’d been. 

A few hours later, the news reported the discovery of another body. 

Dean wished the news surprised him. 

~~~

Dean awoke the following morning to the sound of his phone ringing, some loud obnoxious ringtone that Sam had changed it to during their last prank war that Dean still hadn’t figured out how to change.

“Hello?” Dean cracked one eye open and tried to blink himself awake.

“Hey there, Dean,” the sheriff somehow sounded even more tired than the last time they’d spoken. She seemed almost resigned. “Just calling to ask... are... are zombies a thing?”

“What?” Dean blinked a couple times. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting, but zombies had not been anywhere on that list. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Why?”

“The latest victim, Morgan Blackwell? We managed to pull a fingerprint.” Stoker’s voice still sounded off. She should’ve sounded a bit more relieved to finally have some actual evidence, but she just seemed resigned. “Found a match to a ten year old missing person’s case from Illinois,” she continued. “But he was declared legally dead a few years ago, so either James Novak’s done an exceptional job hiding for all these years, or our serial killer is a walking corpse.”

“N—Novak?” Dean asked faintly. There it was. He could write off Cas keeping odd hours and going off to do his own thing in the middle of the night. But this… 

This was definitive proof. 

“Dean?” Sheriff Stoker’s voice jarred him from his thoughts. “Does that name mean something to you?” She asked cautiously. 

“Oh, uh, no it doesn’t,” Dean replied quickly. “Thought it sounded familiar but I was thinking of someone else.”

“Right,” the sheriff didn’t sound convinced. “Dean?” Her voice had softened. “You’d tell me if you knew anything, right?”

“Absolutely,” he tried to sound reassuring, but he was having a hard time trying to feel much of anything beyond the dread and despair that was threatening to drown him. “You know what, Amelia?” He heard his voice as he spoke again, but it sounded far away even to his own ears. “You’re probably right, I’m sure it’s a ghoul or something. Sam and I ‘ll handle it.”

“Oh,” she sounded surprised, but whether it was from the affirmation that zombies were real or Dean’s change in demeanor, he couldn’t tell. “You sure you boys don’t want my help?” She asked quietly. 

“No, no we’ve got it covered.” He paused for a moment. “Thank you though.” Dean wasn’t sure what exactly he was thanking her for. For offering to help? For confirming that his worst nightmare had come true? He suddenly realized how desperately he wanted this phone call to be over. 

Thankfully, Stoker seemed to pick up on that. “Ok Dean.” There was silence on the other end of the line for a while, long enough that Dean almost thought she’d hung up. He was just about to hang up himself when she spoke up one more time. “Take care,” she whispered. “If you need anything, you know how to reach me.” They both knew she wasn’t talking about hunting anymore. 

Dean nodded. There was no way she could see the affirmation, but she hung up before he could bring himself to say anything. With a shaky sigh, Dean set his phone down on the nightstand. “Dammit, Cas,” he whispered brokenly. 

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They’d won. God was safely locked away in his cage. Things were supposed to get better, but instead everything was falling apart around him. The monsters had been steadily growing in power and now Cas... Cas was...

It hurt too much for him to even think about it.

Dean let out a shaky sigh and ran his hands over his face, pausing when his hand came back wet. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d been crying.

“Dean?” The knock on the door startled Dean much more than he would ever admit. He looked up to see Sam peeking his head through the now open doorway. “I heard you talking on the phone and... what happened?” 

Dean didn’t answer. Answering would mean acknowledging it, and there was no way in hell he was going to do that… Except he had to. This wasn’t the sort of problem that went away if you ignored it. No, this was the sort of problem that just kept getting worse and worse until blew up in their faces. Just like every problem in their godforsaken lives.

“Dean?” The bed dipped slightly next to him and Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s… it’s Cas, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, but Dean nodded anyway. 

“Shit.”

They sat in silence for a while. 

“So…” Sam finally spoke up, his voice barely above a heavy whisper. “What are we gonna do?”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It didn’t make him feel any better but that probably wan’t gonna be in the cards for a while, if ever. “Same thing we always do, Sam,” Dean replied, wiping away the unshed tears that were threatening to spill over. Now wasn’t the time to sit around and cry. “We’ve got a problem and we’re gonna deal with it.”

He could cry when it was all over. If it ever would be over.

~~~

Dean still didn’t have a lot of experience when it came to welding, but by the end of the afternoon, the finished box sat on his workbench, the shining metal a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t put off any longer.

Now they just had to find Cas.

Sam had agreed that the best course of action was probably to try talking to him first and while Sam and Cas had always gotten along just fine, they had never been all that close. Which left Dean. Cas’s room had been empty, as expected, and a quick sweep of the bunker had also come up empty, so Dean grabbed a beer, even though he really wanted something much stronger, and set himself up in the library to wait. If Cas was out, he’d have to pass through here and if he didn’t… Well then he’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Thankfully, Cas didn’t disappoint. A few hours later, the door to the bunker slammed shut and Dean couldn’t tell if the sigh he let out was one of relief or dread. Cas swept past him moments later, not even bothering to acknowledge his presence, which hurt, but now wasn’t the time for feelings.

Dean cleared his throat. “Cas, we need to talk.”

Cas stopped, standing utterly still, and once again, Dean reminded of just how inhuman his friend was. Cas wasn’t breathing. He technically didn’t need to breathe, but he’d said once that his body found the action comforting. But now the facade had dropped and the creature standing in front of Dean wasn’t one he recognized. “What could we possibly need to talk about?”

“Cut the crap Cas!” Dean slammed his hand down on the table. “I know, ok?” 

Cas’s face was still carefully blank. “Know what?” 

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you, you bastard?” Dean growled. “You lock yourself away in your room so we barely see you anymore and then I find out you’ve been disappearing for hours on end in the middle of the night. Then suddenly the bodies start piling up?” Cas’s face was as emotionless as a block of stone and it was making Dean’s blood boil. How dare he be so indifferent when everything was falling to pieces around them? “It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together!” 

“Dean, I—“ Cas started to say something, but Dean didn’t want to hear whatever flimsy lie was coming. 

“Don’t!” The damn had broken and with that final exclamation, Dean just felt empty. He was so tired of everything, of the lies and the deception and the loss. “Cas just… just don’t... I know it was you.”

To his credit, Cas didn’t bother with trying to deny it anymore. He just stood there, as silent and stoic as he’d been all those years ago when he’d told him that he served Heaven. Dean wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. After a few moments, Cas sighed. “Then I don’t see what there is left to talk about.”

“What’s left to—! Cas you killed them! I could barely recognize that last guy as a person.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” If Cas actually felt any remorse for the people he’d killed, it certainly wasn’t evident in his face. 

“That’s what you’re sorry about? That I had to see it? They were innocent people Cas! And you murdered them in cold blood.”

“I did what I had to, Dean,” Cas snapped and Dean would’ve felt a burst of pride at finally getting any sort of emotion from Cas, if he wasn’t too busy trying to hold himself together. 

“No what you had to do was tell Sam and me what was going on so we could handle things before it got to this point!”

“And what exactly would you have done, Dean? You would’ve devoted all your energy on trying to fix something that can’t be fixed instead of focusing on the bigger picture. So. I. Handled. It.”

“This isn’t how we do things and you know it,” Dean hissed. “There’s always another way and we would’ve helped you find it.”

“Do you really think so little of me, Dean?” Cas growled. “I’ve already tried everything I possibly could. I tried to ignore it and when that failed, I started hunting down monsters while you were sleeping, but it wasn’t enough.”

Dean stopped short. “What?”

“Haven’t you wondered why there hasn’t been a single monster sighting within a fifty mile radius of the bunker?”

“That… That doesn’t matter. You still killed people Cas.”

Cas took a slow, measured breath. “So now what?”

“I think you know.” 

Cas didn’t even look surprised, the only expression on his face was one of grim determination as he stood a bit straighter. “You can’t kill me. That would leave Sam with the Mark and we both know you would never allow that. No, it has to stay with me. Because I’m the expendable one, aren’t I Dean? A tool to be used and thrown out as soon as its no longer useful.”

“Wha— Cas no, you aren’t expendable!”

“Really?” Cas cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Then why was it that after the Fall, when I was suddenly human and barely holding it together, you wasted no time before you tossed me out on the streets? Because I was no longer a nearly indestructible angel you could throw at your problems.”

“Cas that’s not why I kicked you out and you know it, I told you—“

“As if you weren’t secretly relieved that you didn’t have to put up with me anymore!”

“Cas, that’s not true.”

But Cas didn’t seem to be listening anymore. “But I just kept coming back didn’t I?” Cas’s eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. “Too blinded by whatever misguided affection I may have held for you to understand what you were trying to tell me. You would never stoop so low, could never love the monster you saw me as.” Cas chuckled, a low mirthless noise that chilled Dean to the bone nearly as efficiently as his words had. “I made a promise to myself the last time I left.” A quick movement and a flash of silver caught Dean’s eye as Cas took another step closer. “And I refuse to be cast aside again.”

Cas had drawn his weapon, was advancing on him, and Dean knew that he should focus on that imminent threat, but his treacherous heart was too busy processing what Cas had just admitted. “Cas you— you love me?”

This seemed to throw Cas for a loop. He stopped short. “Does it even matter anymore?” He asked bitterly.

“Yes Cas, of course it matters!”

“Dean stop!” Cas snarled. “Its too late, we both know how this ends.”

From somewhere behind Cas came the sound of a gun cocking. “Yeah Cas, I think we do.” 

A look of annoyance flashed across Cas’s face for a brief moment before the carefully crafted mask of neutrality slammed back into place. He turned to look behind him. “Sam,” he said calmly. “I was wondering when you would show up.”

Sam leveled the barrel of the gun, pointing it directly at Cas’s chest, but Dean could seen the faint tremble in his grip. Evidently Cas saw it as well, because he straightened, looking scarily reminiscent of the being that had once declared himself God, and threw up the hand not holding his sword, sending Sam flying backwards until his back collided with the bookshelf behind him. The gun went clattering to floor.

The library lights glinted off metal as Cas flipped the blade in his hands. He took a determined step towards Sam’s crumpled form and in that moment Dean understood, with perfect clarity that froze his heat in his chest, that if he didn’t do something, Cas _was_ going to kill them. 

In retrospect, the solution Dean’s panicked brain came up with was all kinds of stupid. With a yell, Dean launched himself into Cas’s back; a move that, given how goddamn immovable Cas could be when he set his mind to it, shouldn’t have worked but when Dean’s shoulder connected solidly with Cas’s lower back, the force behind it sent them both tumbling to the floor. 

The struggle as they rolled across the floor was embarrassingly short lived. Dean may have had the element of surprise on his side when he’d tackled him, but Cas still had the strength of an angel. Dean’s back collided with the wood floor, knocking the wind out of him as a hand slammed down against his shoulder, effectively pinning him in place. Cas loomed above him, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl that made him look more animal than human. He pulled back the arm holding the sword, raising it high above his head. 

“Cas,” Dean pleaded, desperately grabbing onto the stiff material of Cas’s coat. He closed his eyes and waited. But there was nothing, no stab of blinding pain, no one way ticket to oblivion.

Dean cracked an eye open.

Cas sat frozen above him, sword still poised to strike, but the feral glint to his eyes was gone, replaced by a look of pure horror. The hand holding the blade trembled. “Dean.” Cas’s voiced cracked. “I—I can’t—“

The crack of a gunshot cut off whatever it was Cas was going to say. His grip on his blade loosened and the blade clattered to the floor harmlessly next to Dean’s head as Cas slumped over to the side. 

“Holy shit it worked.” Sam lowered the still smoking gun and chuckled, though the sound that came out sounded just shy of hysterical. 

“What do you mean ‘it worked’?” Dean grumbled, wincing as he picked himself up off the ground. He’d hit the ground a lot harder than he would’ve liked. “There was a doubt?” 

Sam scowled. “Well excuse me for doubting. It’s not like we’ve ever tried carving an angel trap into a bullet before.” He set the gun down on a nearby table and bent down to pick up the fallen angel blade. “We should probably hold onto this,” he said sheepishly, tucking the sword into the waistband of his jeans.

“Right, yeah, probably a good idea.”

“We should get moving, I’m not sure how long that bullet’ll hold.” Sam nodded down at what Dean had been trying his hardest to avoid looking at. Cas was mostly still, besides the occasional twitch, but his eyes were darting around wildly. It was unnerving as hell.

“Right,” Dean nodded. “Let’s go then.”

Moving Cas was more of a challenge than they’d anticipated. The bastard was deceptively heavy, but the bullet in his shoulder held up, keeping him from moving much beyond some futile struggling. 

“Dean, you said the box was ready to go,” Sam groused, dropping his hold of Cas as they entered the room, leaving Dean alone to try and keep Cas from falling to the floor in a heap. 

“It is!” Dean protested. 

“Then why is it still on the workbench?”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not done. We just need to lift him up into it.”

“We were barely able to carry him here, Dean. There’s no way we’re gonna be able to lift him up that high.”

Dean resisted the urge to sigh. “Well then we move the box to the floor.” He carefully laid Cas down and moved over to the workbench. 

It took some maneuvering: the box was far heavier than Cas but mercifully less prone to struggling, so by the time they’d positioned the box on the floor and opened the lid they were both breathing hard. 

“Ok,” Dean wiped his hands on his jeans, “well that was fun but now we gotta—“ He was cut off by a grunt of pain from Sam.

Dean turned just in time to watch the silver blade slide out of his brother’s shoulder. 

Shit. 

Dean managed to shove Sam out of the way of the next arc of the blade, earning himself a painful gash across his bicep for his trouble. Another swipe came rushing towards him and Dean threw himself back, barely managing to keep himself on his feet as he finally came face to face with his attacker. 

If Cas had been pissed before, he looked downright murderous now. The bullet hole in his shoulder looked even larger now, staining the material of his coat with blood and shining with a faint blue light. Dean cursed. Of course Cas had managed to dig the damn bullet out of his shoulder. Bastard was nothing if not determined. This is why you always aimed for the head; it was a lot harder to remove a bullet when you had to go through the skull to get it. 

They circled each other slowly, although Dean didn’t know why Cas still had yet to make a move. Sam was struggling to stay conscious as he slowly bled out on the floor and Dean was unarmed and outmatched in every possible way. The only weapon he had left was his words. 

“Come on Cas, this ain’t you,” he said, his voice tight. “You gotta fight this.”

“Dean, I can’t!” Cas growled. “I tried so hard to fight it but I just can’t.” He flipped the blade in his hand and lunged, just barely missing Dean’s side. Dean jumped to the side to avoid the next flurry of strikes, eventually putting Cas exactly where he wanted him: with his back to Sam and the box.

“Cas please,” Dean pleaded. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Do what?” Cas growled. “I’m the one with the weapon.” He swung again, and this time Dean ducked straight down.

“I’m sorry Cas.”

Cas pulled his arm back to strike once more, but this time, instead of dodging, Dean rushed forward, planted his foot squarely on Cas’s stomach, and _shoved_. The force was just enough to send Cas back a step, which normally wouldn’t have thrown him, but his calf bumped against the edge of the ma’lak box, throwing him off balance enough to send him tumbling backwards.

The noise that came from Cas’s mouth as he fell could only be described as inhuman, the ear-splitting whine of his true voice blending in with the deeper pitch of his human one. Dean’s hands flew to cover his ears. He needed to close the lid before Cas could recover but the noise made it impossible for him to do anything other than stand there and wait for his damn eardrums to explode.

Thankfully, Sam wasn’t so affected. 

The lid to the box slammed shut with a note of finality as the runes covering the surface flared to life briefly, but it was the complete and utter silence that followed that made Dean’s ears ring. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected. The last time they’d tried to use one of these, it hadn’t worked, but given the fuss Cas had thrown before he’d been shoved in, you’d think that there’d be some evidence of the near feral creature that was locked inside. But there was no banging against the heavy, metal lid, no hoarse screaming or high-pitched angelic screeching. 

Just... silence. 

Dean took a shaky step closer to the box as Sam slid the heavy padlock through the latch. The runes on the box provided enough protection to keep any and all supernatural creatures from opening it, but there wasn’t much they could do to deter a curious human beyond a strong lock. 

“I’m gonna… I better get patched up,” Sam said, his voice shattering the fragile silence. With a wince, he shuffled past Dean, stopping for just a moment to lay a sympathetic hand on his shoulder before leaving Dean alone with the awful quiet.

He’d always hated silence. The oppressive reminder of just how alone he was in the world.

“Cas?” Dean whispered as he took the final few steps forward and laid his hand on the cool metal in front of him. “I don’t know if you can even hear me in there, but you’re wrong.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I never _once_ thought you were a monster. Not even now. Probably should, hell I’m sure Sam does, but I love you too damn much to ever think that Cas. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got stuck with the mark, and that it came to this, but mostly... mostly I’m sorry that after all this, I finally find the guts to tell you how I feel about you and I don’t even know if you can hear me say it.”

Dean slammed his fist against the metal. “Dammit Cas!” He slowly sunk to his knees. “I love you,” he whispered as the tears he’d been trying so hard to hold back finally began to slip free. “Always have,” he sniffed. “Wanted to tell you so bad in Purgatory, both times, but it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?”

Dean let out a noise that began as a sigh but ended like more of a sob. Shifting, he moved from a kneeling position to sit on the floor with his back against the box. The cold of the floor seeped through his jeans, but Dean couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. 

It wasn’t any colder than the rest of him felt.

~~~

A year and a half later, as Bobby’s machete came flying towards his neck, Dean’s last thought was of kind, blue eyes and how not even death would grant him the comfort of getting to see them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Things I learned while writing this: Evidently I hate myself...  
> I'm so sorry but the idea would not leave me alone.


End file.
